


Ashes Wither

by kelex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from otpprompts:  <br/>Imagine Person B awakens from a triggering nightmare. They call Person A up and tells them what’s happened, and Person A tells them to hold on and hangs up. Person B feels offended and upset…until they hear someone knocking on their door a little while later. They open it and it’s Person A, out of breath and fussing over them. They ran all the way to Person B’s house to comfort them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes Wither

He only has these dreams when he's alone. They're full of hot desert air that tastes like blood, red oceans of bodies blown to pieces by IEDs, and mangled metal masses that used to be vehicles carrying live soldiers. And he wakes shuddering, a death rattle of bullets still ringing in his ears. 

He really thought he was over this.

His mobile is by the bed, and he finds it mostly by touch. Deeply grooved scratches around the charger port tells him which way is up, and speed dial takes care of the rest.

Sherlock answers on the second ring. "You are supposed to be sleeping." No pleasantries, nothing. "That was the bargain, I believe. You could leave the hospital only if you agreed to rest."

"I was, actually." A long, slow breath that was far shakier than he would've liked. "Had to go to the loo and thought I'd check and see if you'd like a bit of company from your blogger." A wince accompanied the obvious lie; of course Sherlock would see through it in an instant.

"I think you ought to go back to sleep." Sherlock spoke to someone else, his words muffled in the background before clearing when he came back on the line. "Are you all right?"

He was utterly _shocked_ that Sherlock had let an obvious lie pass. "Fine, yeah, thanks. Probably won't even need the sling tomorrow." Which was true as far as it went; the knife hadn't gone deep, and had only glanced off bone. "Doesn't really hurt unless I roll over on it."

"Have Mrs. Hudson bring you up a warm cuppa, and take your medicine," was Sherlock's sage advice.

Even the curt replies were helping to calm his heartbeat, and Sherlock's familiar voice was helping anchor him in their current case instead of Afghanistan. "It's two in the bloody morning. I am not waking Mrs. Hudson up!"

"Well, there's nothing I can do."

A deep sigh that was much steadier than before. "Tell me about the case, then. What did you find out tonight?" Anything to keep Sherlock talking to him.

"Nothing of real importance yet. Richards eats quite a bit of take-away, shaves twice a day, feeds his neighbor's cat when she's gone, and reads trashy celebrity gossip magazines."

"How did--Sherlock, did you go through his garbage?" Scrubbing his face, he could feel sleep trying to reclaim him.

"Of course not. I gave one of my homeless network fifty pounds to do it for me." A brief spate of muffled conversation again. "I was hoping for a weapon, at least. Instead, week-old take-away cartons, four tins of Murdock shave cream, two tins of cat food, and three issues of _Speak_."

He could imagine Sherlock's look of disgust and it made him grin. "Sorry it didn't work out for you." Across the way, the street lamps showed the light rain that had started to fall. "Should've taken that umbrella, yeah?"

"I wouldn't worry. I'll just turn up my collar, accent my cheekbones, and tie off my scarf." The sarcasm dripped so heavily it was almost amusing.

It made him laugh, and the sound was almost foreign and unexpected.

It covered the sound of a key turning in the downstairs lock.

"Yeah, you do that," he said through the laugh. And it made him relax in a way he hadn't since the nightmares woke him. "All right, I don't want to keep you away from Richards too long. See you in the morning?"

"Of course. Good night, John."

He looked up at the strange echo, and in an instant, he realized.

The bedroom door opened as Sherlock said good night, and they hung up their mobiles at the same moment.

Sherlock came in, drew the drapes to hide the glow from the street lamps, and sat on the bed beside John. "Go back to sleep, John." Unspoken was the promise of _I'll watch over you, keep your dreams safe. You're my only friend, John, and I will save you._

"Goodnight, Sherlock." The weight of his friend beside him, the warm hand on his shoulder, and Sherlock's unwavering presence eased John back into the welcome darkness of sleep.

He didn't dream of the war again.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/125710959991/imagine-person-b-awakens-from-a-triggering


End file.
